


Untitled

by LauraEMoriarty



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a "happily ever after" tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

A sad smile crossed the lips of the King as he sipped his wine. Perhaps marrying his beloved wife had been the wrong thing—the multitude of miscarriages were taking a toll on both of them. Was it worth it? Was it worth trying to acquiesce to the demands of the Bannorn that an heir must be produced? They had both known the risks, both of them, the Taint in their blood making it near impossible to conceive, let alone carry to term. She had had so many miscarriages—and Alistair felt like a fool, not knowing what to do or say to her after them. So much hope pinned on his wife, for a marriage between house Cousland and the royal house of Theirin had been loudly proclaimed as one of the best matches Ferelden had ever seen, not counting the marriage of King Cailan to Queen Anora.

He felt like a failure. How many times had they tried, only to wake to a bloodied bed months later, his Elethea whiter than a sheet, clutching the tiny, deformed thing to her breast? It was not ideal, and he never knew how to react, though each death brought him as much pain as it did her. He held her in his arms, kissed her, and whispered in her ear that they could always try again. But for how much longer could they sustain the hope of a child, how much longer could it happen before both of them knew the truth? Blithe denial in the early months of their marriage, putting it down to bad luck, and not the Taint that coursed through their veins.

There was an heir, somewhere out there, ignorant of his destiny—the child conceived on the night before the great Siege of Denerim, where they had routed the Archdemon and the horde. Miraculously, they had both survived the battle, and the Maleficar who had saved them vanished, never to be sighted again. The rumours that a Witch of the Wilds had been sighted heading towards the Frostback Mountains had proven fruitless—she was long gone when the scouts arrived. It wouldn’t be the same, however, as a child of their own. The Theirin bloodline was all but dead—Maric was gone, Cailan was dead, and he was the last of his line—and the Cousland line was nearly decimated. Elethea and her brother Fergus were the last of the Couslands, and it seemed unlikely that Fergus would remarry.

He stood, placing his cup of wine down. Meandering down the corridor to their shared rooms, he was not surprised to see Wynne carrying a bowl. Alistair had seen Wynne too many times in the past few months, closely monitoring his Queen as she entered confinement. “How is she?” he asked her, concern in his voice. Wynne’s face said it all. Grim faced, she shook her head. “Again?” She nodded, standing aside, as Alistair pushed past her, hurrying into their bedchambers. His wife’s pale face and hair plastered to her forehead, eyes looking as haunted as they always did, broke his heart. It wasn’t fair. Life was meant to be better than this—they’d saved Thedas from the ravages of the Fifth Blight, and he had become King. They were meant to ride off into the sunset, into happily ever after like the minstrels and bards sang of—they weren’t meant to endure the heartache of multiple miscarriages, the chance of an heir getting further and further away.

“My love.” Her voice was weak, and she stretched her arms out to him, and he held her tightly, as though he never wanted to let go. She closed her eyes, safe in the arms of her husband and king—the finest, strongest man she had ever known. “No more.” She looked up at him, and Alistair saw the truth in her eyes—they would die without an heir—she would die if they continued on this reckless path. “I can’t… I’m not strong enough… Wynne tells me the babe was dead in the womb.” Her voice was faint, her breathing shallow. She could feel death reaching for her, and she was not ready to go. Not yet, not without Alistair beside her in death. Selfish, perhaps, for wanting Alistair at her side in death—selfish, but she could afford to be selfish now. She had given it all she had, all she had ever given was her sweat, blood and tears to save Ferelden and Thedas from the Blight.

The Grey Wardens could never have children. No matter if they were King or Queen of Ferelden, the Taint made it impossible. The realisation was slow, but it was coming. It was truly selfish that she wanted a child of her own—a child to name for her mother, or a son to name after his grandfather. “A girl. Eleanor. That was her name.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she could not bear to look at her husband, for she knew the tears were in his, too. They had been foolishly optimistic, fools to believe they would be able to carry a child to term, and have an heir. She would just have to rely on Alistair living and remarrying after her death, for she could feel the clammy hands on her shoulder, forcing her to cling harder and harder to life. “Be strong, Alistair. You will need to be strong now…”

Her eyes closed, and with that, the Hero and Queen of Ferelden went to the Maker’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, the female Cousland is named for her ancestor, Elethea-- she resisted Calenhad's attempt to unite Ferelden. That is why her name is Elethea-- and in all the stories I write, her name will be Elethea Cousland.


End file.
